The First Warden
by Timewave Zero
Summary: "In War, Victory. In Peace, Vigilance. In Death, Sacrifice." The story of the First Blight and the founding of the legendary order of warriors that would become the Grey Wardens. All lore and settings belong to Bioware. With the exception of my OC's!
1. What Hath Man's Sin Wrought?

**890 TE (-305 Ancient), The port city of Minrathous; Capital of Tevinter.**

Fires burned. The city crumbled. The streets ran red with the blood of a people tearing themselves apart through fear and disillusion. For nearly 900 years the walls of Minrathous had stood firm, protecting the glowing heart of the Imperium from any and all outside threats. But a plague was rising from within.

It had started 90 years ago with the ruling lords of Tevinter; the Magisters had sought to usurp heaven. They had torn the Veil asunder, walked bodily in the realm of dreams, trespassed in a world no mortal man was permitted. They had sought dominion over all of creation. The Old Gods had whispered to them, swelling their hearts with pride and arrogance, told of false promises of power and immortality. The Golden City. The throne of the Maker, the seat of all creation…this was their prize. These lords of the earth would soon be the masters of all.

It was not to be…

For their transgressions the Magisters were cast down into the depths of the earth, just as the Old Gods before them. And as they fell the sleeping Gods watched….waited. As the Magisters dropped into the darkness; their bodies twisted and foul with sin, the Silent God rose to meet them. He had given these tainted mortals their wish. For now they were as gods; as the Old Gods were, cast down and un-loved by the Maker, sinful and wicked, destined to spend eternity in blackness and despair.

But even this fate the former Magisters would not accept. They gazed upon the dragon-lord Dumat and in him they saw perfection, as glorious as the Golden City itself. His voice a serene ballad of whispered beauty, his body an incorruptible vessel of immortal wisdom and power. Never again would they know such wonder, for the Maker had denied it them. They knew now that their dragon-god was to blame; Dumat: a mockery of the perfection that they could no longer hope to achieve. In anger they turned upon their betrayer; the Silent God. Into Him they directed their rage and their fury and all of their suffering. All of mankind's evils they poured into Him, and He was consumed by it. The Old God, their betrayer, now felt the Magisters pain. For He had tasted their sin and the Makers wrath and it was impossible to bear. Whilst mankind's sin remained in Him never again would He find peace. And so He would destroy mankind and purge the world of the Maker's mistake. He called out to those who had corrupted Him in a voice both beautiful and terrible to behold. The Magisters responded. He gazed upon their mortal bodies and saw that they were men no longer, for the Maker had deemed them unworthy of that name. As demons they had become, twisted by the waters of the Fade, and in turn He too had become a demon; twisted by their taint, full of rage and pride, desire and hunger and envy.

And it came to pass that the whispering Old God became the Archdemon, ruler of those that had tainted him. As one demon would feed upon a single aspect of human negativity, he would taste and embody them all. Through the mountains He led his army of corruption, through the Deep Roads of the dwarven kingdoms they travelled. The throne of heaven had been denied them, but they would still rule the land of men. The Deep Roads fell; they breached the surface spawned from the darkness of the deep. An invasion of the land had begun: The First Blight.

90 years later Minrathous still stood. Countless hordes of the beasts now known as Darkspawn had tried to take the port city. Wave after wave they came, as if they somehow knew Minrathous had once been the seat of their worldly power. But still the city stood steadfast; the giant walls resolute, the Nocen Sea impassable. Though times were changing. Civil war loomed on the horizon, threatening to tear the city apart from within. Many had turned away from the worship of the absent Old Gods and the ruling Magisters, neither heeding the call of a terrified people. Those still loyal to the old ways and to the Archon clashed daily with the new wave of reformists. Around the city the old temples burned. Outside the city the whole land was ablaze…The world was ending. And few were left or willing to do anything, save sitting and awaiting death.

Endran Vor'pero was a man who refused to let death claim him. For 30 years he had fought the Darkspawn menace and endured. Just a child of 10 when he was called to arms, he had risen through the ranks as around him his world collapsed and his people died.

Now he stood in the High Tower, a General of the remaining armies of a once grand Tevinter Imperium. Before him stood the Archon Osar Enovia, ruling lord of the magocracy. A man whose empire stood on the verge of collapse and all the magic in the Makers world could not save it. And so the Archon turned now to his General; merely a man not a mage. A man who had triumphed through will and by sword, not magic or miracles. The hope of a collapsing world rested squarely upon his broad shoulders.

The Archon sat upon his lavish throne, draped in luxury and surrounded by his scurrying Elven slaves. Light from high windows shone upon him, illuminating him so that to Endran's eyes he seemed a mockery of some valorous Fade spirit. As Endran came closer he rose, arms outstretched. Several slaves ran to the General, fawning over him.

"Come my friend. What news off our enemy? You return from Hossberg correct? What news from the Anderfels?"

Vor'pero dismissed the Elves, not content to be coddled by the Archon's servants. He stooped upon one knee. "My lord, King Ozill has declared his allegiance to me. He can spare little and is weakening, but his people are hardy and proud and will not submit easily. They face our impossible enemy daily, yet they do not waver in the face of annihilation and defeat. Tomorrow I intend to march my armies upon the horde that gathers near Nordbotten. They amass for another attack. The Archdemon itself is with them."

"Very well General. What are our chances of success?"

Vor'pero stuttered slightly. "The same as ever my lord. We can only do so much to push these creatures back. They will soon destroy us whole, this I know. Each battle only serves to delay our inevitable doom and thin our ranks further."

"And what of our other allies?"

"Rivain and Ciraine are quiet my lord. News from the south is sporadic at best. We dispatched emissaries to Kal-Sharok two weeks past, yet they have not returned. The dwarves ignore us, resigned to their own fate. It would take an alliance of nations to defeat this blight upon our lands, yet all the people see are hopelessness and death."

"And that is why it falls to heroes like you Endran, to unite this land and save us all." The Archon smiled, yet Endran sensed a degree of mockery in his voice. Maybe even spite. The magocracy had always viewed those without magical ability as inferior. In Endran's accomplishments they saw only their own weakness, knowing that in these desperate times their power would not be enough to save them.

"I am but a simple warrior my lord. But a man. Fighting for what little freedom remains. But I fear in my heart it will soon be for naught."

"My advisor will travel with you tomorrow General. His name is Enzi Rothqua. He is a powerful man whose magic should serve you well."

Endran knew that this was a ploy by the magocracy to supplant one of their own into his ranks. They didn't really trust him. And he trusted the magisters less. He was more content to rely on witches and hedge wizards than to entrust his life to the hands of those whose ancestors had bought this sin to the world 90 years past. "I have come to rely little on miracles my lord," Endran spoke bitterly. "It was the hubris of your ilk that begat this Blight, lest you forget."

"Enough Endran! Your blasphemy will not be tolerated in this place. Do not speak ill of those great men that came before!"

"Apologies my lord. If it be your will I will welcome your advisor. I will not turn away help when it is offered."

"Glad I am to hear it General. Do not forget your place. You are a man born of Tevinter. Your duty is to me, to the magocracy. Your victories ensure the rule of our empire, and our empire alone. Only through our rule will all men know paradise and peace. We are the last shining beacon of civilization in a disparate land filled with barbarians and thieves. Through us alone all shall know glory and heaven! Do not forget that your duty, and the duty of your army is to serve the Imperium."

"My duty is to stop this Blight, whatever the cost. Do not speak to me of the lost glory of this empire, for I remember it little. All I have known is hopeless war. And if not for men like me there will be little of this world left to rule...magister." The last word is tinged with a malice and implication not lost on the Archon. His face blackens and he prepares to continue the tirade with his insolent General. It's at this moment his advisor chooses to enter the room and end the unpleasantries.

"My lord?"

"Enzi! Come. The General was just leaving."

"So soon?" smiled Enzi. "General, before you go might I trouble you for one moment?"

Endran arose to his feet, no longer content to bow before the Archon; civility was pointless in such dark times, and the Archon's stubbornness and pride angered him.

Endran made for the exit, Enzi following close. "Very well mage. Make it quick."

Enzi came nearer, whispered out of earshot of the Archon. "In private perhaps? I may have a way to help your army."

"I will not trust my men to your spells mage. Regardless, your healing powers would be lost against men afflicted by the taint."

"Ah, but that is just the point General. I may have a way to combat even the taint itself!" The mage's eyes lit up. He had the exuberance of a puppy.

Endran's eyebrows arched curiously. "This I doubt. But very well, I shall hear you out."

"Excellent! But not here. There is a tavern in the servants quarters by the docks called the _Archon's Folly_. Meet me there after sundown and I will explain. Now, if you will kindly excuse me General, I must attend to Ser Enovia." The mage bounced away happily, casually adressing the Archon's Elves who ran off to perform some errand or another.

Endran stood for a moment, pondering what would be so important that even in the presence of the lord of Tevinter, Enzi was so keen to keep it quiet. It didn't matter anyway. There was little left to stand against the Blight. Soon the world would crumble and fall, the land's succumb to blackness and taint, and all that would be left were tainted monsters; dark mockeries of men who's pride had wrought ruin upon this earth.

But until that day came Endran would keep fighting. A fools hope was still hope. And until the last breath left his body he would never stop…


	2. Rogue Encounter

**Minrathous servant district, the shores of the Nocen Sea.**

The sun was setting as Endran approached the stone gateway that marked the passage into the servant district. Light glittered playfully off soft waves as they crashed listlessly against the crumbling pier; a serene echo of a beauty soon to be gone from the world as it slowly plunged into ruin.

Armed guards at the archway greeted their General, questioning what a man such as he would be doing slumming it in the festering outskirts of the city.

As he entered the district several Elves rushed to meet him, begging for coin, only leaving when he reluctantly threw a pouch of 10 sovereigns upon the ground. As if from nowhere more Elves appeared, like rabbits from burrows, fighting and scrapping like beasts as they fought over the shiny trinkets of gold.

As he entered deeper into the warren of shanty huts and crumbling hovels he was approached by an Elven prostitute.

"Ho there Ser. Fancy some?" she enquired with a strained and coarse voice, her accent alike to the crunching gravel beneath her shoeless feet.

Endran sighed. "Begone Elf, I have nothing to offer you."

"But it is I who is offering you something Ser." The Elf woman wriggled her hips and pouted her lips provocatively, winking one eye covered crudely in makeshift makeup.

"I'm not interested in what you are selling. Unless you sell directions…"

"I can point you to my bed good knight…"

"I am not after a bed. I seek the tavern of _Archon's Folly."_

"Oh, there's no good women to be had there Ser. I'm the one you want."

"I warn you Elf, my patience wears thin. It has not escaped your notice that I am armed and armoured?"

"Has not my good Ser, I only wish to relieve you of that heavy burden. So clunky and ungainly, not like those well dressed mages in the tower."

"Then go bother the mages. I have no time for this foolishness."

"Oh, they never come down here Ser. Not unless they're coming to kill us."

"Kill you?"

"Oh yes Ser. For their spells. They're into that blood magic they are Ser. We see a mage and we run. Not like you soldiers. No, your lot come down here often. Good times to be had down here Ser. Prefer them sort of shems anyway, so strong and manly. Know how to handle a woman like me they do Ser."

"I'm sure. Well I am meeting a mage here. The advisor to Archon Enovia himself. I advise you not to delay me further."

"Big name's them Ser. And who is it you might be?"

"I am Endran Vor'pero, General to the armies of Tevinter. You would be wise not to anger me."

"Important man you are Ser. Been waiting for someone like you we have."

Endran tensed instinctively as he sensed the presence of men at his back. He turned slowly. Three Elves stood watching him, clad in dark hooded robes. They blocked the route he had travelled in from. He turned back to see another two Elves, similarly attired. One Elf came forward. Removing his hood to reveal his flowing gold hair atop a tattooed face, he simultaneously revealed a poison tipped dagger from his sleeve. "Hand's up General," he smirked playfully, his voice like soft velvet.

Endran did so, unwilling to antagonise his ambushers. The Elf turned to the prostitute, stroking her face. "Well done Shaani. You're work is done." From the confines of his dark robe he produced a pouch of coins. The woman snatched at if greedily and ran back into whatever shadows she came from, but not before turning back and flashing Endran a teasing smile.

"So," the Elf said, turning back to face him, "The General of Tevinter himself…"

"You'll get nothing from me Elf. I have fought off the worst this world had thrown at me. A thieving gang of knife-ears frighten me little."

The Elf smiled. "Ah, but he thinks us a mere band of robbers? Far from it. Do you know much of my people? Of our life before enslavement at shemlen hands?"

"I am not much of a scholar I fear," Endran smirked bitterly.

The Elf's eyes bore into his, scornful and vehement. His voice suddenly lifted, and swelling with pride he stretched out his arms and addressed the rest of his followers. "We are the Elgar'nan, named for the All-Father, the God of vengeance! For too long our kind have suffered under the yoke of shemlen oppression! Your people took our lands, our culture. By your arrogance and pride was Arlathan Herself sunk into the earth! We live amongst you now as slaves and beggars, servants and thieves. Too many of my kin are content with this fate! They forget the old ways, choosing instead a life of servitude, spent in violence and fear! The gods of our people are forgotten, praise lavished instead on silent dragons and corrupted magisters! Our lands destroyed, our ways cast aside like dust to the wind! The old tales say that our gods have forsaken us, just as your gods forsake you now. But I cry out to the Pantheon! Hear our call! The place of our people is gone, but the people themselves still live! Uthenera I cry! Revere the ways of old, reclaim these lands for our people, our kin who walk the earth lost but not forgotten. Sleep not, but awake to the truth! Vir Assan, Vir Bor'Assan, Vir Adahlen! 'Together we are stronger than the One!' We are the last of the Elvhenan, and never again shall we submit!"

As the stirring words ended the blonde Elf's followers cheered, their voices jubilant and blades lifted high in the air. Several more Elves appeared from their shacks, roused by the speech and eager to see what would befall the captured shem. "So you see General. Not mere robbers. Nor slaves or beggars."

"Freedom fighters then?" sighed Endran.

"Indeed." The Elf leader smiled.

"So what is it you think you can get from me?"

"Not too smart are you General. I would think the answer obvious."

"My life…"

"As I said General, not smart." He smiled. "Oh no, you are worth more alive. The magisters in the tower, your masters. They depend on you. Their power wanes so they turn to men to save them from their self inflicted Blight. You are that man. With you gone your army will disband. The rest of the shemlen world look to Tevinter for aid and guidance. You are willing to fight while the magisters do nothing! You are their hope! And as your people have taken my hope from me, so I will take theirs! You are my ransom General. The magisters will restore our lives or we shall gladly take yours."

"Then it seems I truly am doomed. The magisters and their Archon care little for me. They care little for this Blight, thinking themselves safe hiding behind the city's high walls and gazing at a crumbling earth from atop their grand towers. Their pride bought about this ruin yet still they cling to it like a beggar clings to coin! And I care little for them Elf. I have nothing against your people. I wish only to save this land, and all it's races. Men, Dwarves and Elves alike. The Darkspawn make no distinction and nor do I!"

The Elf pauses, his face clouded with thought. "A noble speech General. But if your life will not serve us, your death will have to suffice…" In the blink of an eye the Elf's dagger was upon Endran, but decades of fighting had honed him into the perfect expression of combat. Quicker still he had the Elf's arm in his; with one move he deftly disarmed his attacker, pressing down hard on the elbow until he applied enough pressure to feel and hear the arm snap.

The Elf screamed, his cries echoing like a Revenant within the confines of the narrow streets. The gathered Elves' screams mirrored that of their fallen kin, while they scrambled away like rats into the relative safety of their hovels.

The fallen Elf's band of followers backed away slowly as Endran turned to face them, drawing his sword. "I do not wish to fight you Elves!" Endran cried. "But if it is death you wish then I will deliver it swiftly! Go! Begone! Take your fallen master with you!" He began to back away, inviting the Elves in to reclaim their prone comrade, still clutching at his shattered arm. As the Elves drew closer light erupted from behind them, and suddenly they were awash with fire, flames snaking up their bodies and dancing hypnotically around their faces. They fell upon the hard ground violently, writhing in pain, screaming in fear. Their dying cries a dirge of death and torment that pierced the gathering night like a dagger.

For a moment Endran stood still, tensed and shocked at the massacre, his eyes darting around to find the cause. The Elves' cries ceased and their souls returned to the Fade, their bodies finally still. Enzi Rothqua appeared from the shadows, his hands still glowing from the primal energy of his vicious attack.

"Enzi…" Endran stuttered. "By the Maker, what the Fade are you doing?"

"I'll take that as a thank you then…" Enzi smirked, striding confidently over.

"They were no threat mage. They did not wish me harm."

"Oh yes? I heard what was said. It seems they did indeed wish you harm. But no matter. That's a few less Elves in the world. Move aside General, I shall end this one also." Enzi stooped over the fallen Elf leader, his hands crackled with energy as he bought lightning to his fingertips. "A quick shock to the brain…it will be over quickly."

Endran found himself unable to watch the execution of the helpless creature, and stepped in to intervene.

"Enough! Stop this! This Elf does not deserve death. He is a fighter. A warrior. He knows no fear. He and I are not of the same blood but we are as brothers! I will not let you do this."

Enzi's eyes darkened, and for a moment it seemed he would strike Endran down also. But then his face relaxed and the energy building in his hands dispersed. "Very well." He arose to his feet. "Now, if you're quite done riling up these savages General, there is still much to discuss."

Endran's body relaxed, he sheathed his blade. "The Blight."

"Yes, but not here. The very walls have eyes and ears." The mage smiled. "To the tavern as I said."

"Why?"

"We are meeting someone there. Someone that will help us. A Dwarf."

"A Dwarf?"

"Yes, and no mere merchant it seems. A warrior like you."

"So our messages did get through? The Dwarves are willing to help us?"

"Do not get so ahead of yourself General. I do not know if he comes on behalf of any king or caste. But he has knowledge that will aid you in your fight. He is from Kal'Hirol or so I am told. Or used to be at least. He spoke of being cast out, forced to walk the Deep Roads and fight the Darkspawn for eternity. Sounds like a terrible fate does it not?"

"Few men choose their fate mage."

"Ah, what pearls of wisdom. My thanks for your gloomy insight General."

Endran finally smiled. "Don't mention it."

"And lo, the sun breaks finally through the clouds! Come then Ser, let us away. I think you will be most intrigued with what this Dwarf has to say."

The two fellows vanished into the snaking pathways of the district, watched by the blonde haired Elf. Still in pain he stood, favouring his arm gingerly. His eyes held a look of regret as he gazed upon the corpses of his men, their bodies still alight. He kicked the earth over them, smouldering the flames. He knelt beside them, whispering ancient prayers to the old Elven gods.

The tavern the mage had said. They were going to the tavern. Well let them. He would join them there. And broken arm or no, he would avenge his fallen kin…


	3. A Gift From The Legion

**The tavern of **_**Archon's Folly**_**, Minrathous servant district.**

Night had fallen by the time the General and the mage reached the tavern; a large wooden shack built into the side of a decaying section of the city's outer wall.

"The rear of the tavern allows discreet exit from the city…" spoke Enzi. "One of your soldiers alerted me to it. Hadriun I believe his name was. You know him?"

"Yes. He is a strong warrior, and a good man."

"Oh yes? He often comes down here to dalliance with the Elven women; those that give up their bodies for coin. Not very valorous, no?"

"Is such pleasure so wrong in times such as these? Tomorrow he may be dead. The march to the Anderfels is long and treacherous. At least he will die with the comfort that he has known the pleasure of a warm body and a comely smile."

"I suppose. Though with an Elf? It boggles the mind how a civilized mind could fall in with savages such as they."

Endran grunted. "Ser mage, what pray tell is your problem with Elves?"

"I have 'no problem' with them as it were. They make fine slaves, and their blood is quite useful when worked into a particularly taxing spell. But they are an inferior race. Thin, small and weak. They are uncouth and uncivilized."

"Was it not us who took their civilization?"

"We liberated them from their heathen ways, General. Tevinter is the crowning glory of all the known world. The Elves refused to submit to our empire, and so they were enslaved to the will of the Imperium. For the greater good of all. Do you truly like these people?"

"I am not fond of Elves, no. But I also see no need to treat them like animals. In doing so does that not make us uncivilized?"

"The merits of civilization are based on the strength of it's people, General. These creatures allow themselves to be corralled like our cattle. They have not the strength nor will to fight. They are not worthy of your respect."

Endran sighed. "Say what you will mage. But I have seen their will to fight."

"You speak of that Elf which attacked you, yes? Yet still you crushed him beneath your heel like the subservient dog that he is. And I imagine you enjoyed it. He may have had the will to fight you General but he lacked the strength or ability. We will always be their betters."

"As you say. But this grand empire will be for naught when the Blight finally claims it. What then of our civilization mage? Something the Elf said…'Together we are stronger than the One'… He spoke of his own people, but he speaks wisdom all the same. Tevinter alone cannot stop this Blight. I am not so proud that I believe that. Your Archon is however, and that is why we face our doom. Pride…it is our greatest sin, mage. The magocracy are too proud. Their arrogance blinds them to the true threat of this Blight. They are too content to sit and watch, thinking themselves untouchable. They rely on others to save them because they cannot face the fact that they are weak and powerless against the coming darkness. They would have men like me sacrifice themselves so that they may live. We are just as much their slaves as these Elves."

"The magocracy does what it can…"

"I am unsurprised that you would say that, being one of them."

Enzi suddenly laughed, but it did little to ease the growing tension. "General, I am no magister! I am an advisor that is all. A mage certainly. A member of the Minrathous Circle? Of course. But I am not a ruling lord. There are some views I do not share with the Archon and his fellows. I am not one for inaction as you suspect our rulers to be. I too wish to end this Blight, whatever it's cost."

"So you say. But you would turn away the help of Elves because you deem them inferior?"

"If I believed them strong and capable then they would be welcome to help. But their entire race could not stop the expansion of one human empire, how do you expect them to stop the Archdemon and his Blight?"

Endran sighed, rubbing his brow. "Enough mage, I tire of this conversation. The hour grows late. I assume that you bought me to this tavern for a reason, yes? That reason I suspect had little to do with discussing the "merits of civilization?'"

"General, your perceptive mind does you great credit," Enzi joked. "As I said earlier we are meeting a Dwarf here."

"You would trust a Dwarf for help then?"

Enzi smiled. "I thought you had put an end to this conversation? Come, he awaits."

The interior of the tavern was dank and black. The foul odour of sweat and the pungent aroma of cheap bitter drifted around the room like fog. Drunken Elves gazed over the rims of their tankards suspiciously, some slurring threats and insults in hushed tones. Several Elven prostitutes eyed the two men hungrily, hoping for the chance of coin. In one corner of the room an elderly Elf sat in the candlelight playing a lute; the melody a haunting ballad that spoke of loss and betrayal.

From the corner of his eye Endran watched as the tavern's barman began to draw a blade, anticipating trouble. "Halt Elf," he said approaching the bar, "we mean you know harm."

The Elf had one eye missing; in it's place a gaping hole and a wicked scar; a painful and permanent reminder of a past best forgotten. With his good eye he appraised the newcomers. His voice hushed, and his words shaking he spoke. "We…we don't want your kind in 'ere. Begone. I have nothing to do with the smuggling ring."

Enzi stepped forward. "Relax Elf, we do not seek smugglers. At least not Elven ones. We seek a Dwarf. Stocky fellow, big beard, small even by Elven standards. Probably smells like a brewery. Most likely carries upon his person a hulking great war axe. Sports a tattooed forehead and a taciturn grimace etched across a wrinkled face."

The barmen stared blankly with his one milky eye. He paused for a moment then nodded in the direction of the lute player.

Hidden in the far reaches of the room a hunched silhouette could be seen; had one not been searching for him he would have seemed entirely invisible.

"Thank you Elf," said Enzi, and made towards the shadowed figure. Endran followed close, a hand never leaving the hilt of his sword.

"General," Enzi spoke, noticing Endran's discomfort. "You have nothing to fear here. Please take your hand away from your weapon, you're making the patrons nervous. And when Elves get nervous I get nervous, and am more than likely to start shooting lightning bolts all over the place. You really don't want that do you General? Please help me to exercise my restraint."

Endran did so, shaking his head. He could never tell when this blasted mage was being serious.

They reached the Dwarf's table. "Vortag Karrol?" enquired Enzi of the figure in the darkness.

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. "Who wants to know?" came the deep, stony reply.

Enzi stuttered, apparently quite nervous. "I am Enzi Rothqua of the Minrathous Circle of Magi. The advisor to Lord Archon Osar Enovia. We…met two days ago?"

"And who is your boyfriend?"

Enzi let out a gasp. "Pardon me Dwarf, but I assure you my relationship with the General is entirely…"

The Dwarf laughed violently, spittle flung from the shadows. "Relax mage, I know who you are. And what you get up to in your spare time is your own business." The figure finally emerged into the candlelight to offer a formal greeting. "_Atrast Vala_, men of Tevinter."

"Yes, well met. To business then?" said Enzi.

"As you wish. Sit, please."

The two men took their places around the table. The Dwarf called to the barman and requested a round of drinks.

"Hold the poison Elf," shouted Enzi, "Lest you wish to lose the other eye. So then my Dwarven friend," he said turning back to Vortag. "Do you bring what I seek?"

Endran finally spoke up. "What is this about mage?"

"Relax General," said Enzi, "All in good time."

"Is this the General?" enquired Vortag.

"Yes, Endran Vor'pero is my name."

"An honour human," the Dwarf said sincerely, his head bowing slightly. "A rare thing indeed to meet a true warrior here on the surface. Would that all your race were fighters so that this Blight would be over. Alas it is not so."

"We do what we can Dwarf…" spoke Endran bitterly.

"I'm sure," smiled the Vortag. "Yet still it is not enough."

Endran's face darkened.

"Relax General, I mean no offence. For all the bluster of the warrior caste the Dwarva also are falling to this Blight. You topsiders know little of our struggles, yet I assure you it is more than a match for the horror you face here on the surface. It seems these monsters would engulf all the world, above and below. Daily we surrender our kingdoms, our thaigs lost, our people returning to the Stone. Like your Magisters our leaders sit paralysed by politics and infighting; they turn a blind eye to our suffering."

"Then it seems we share a common ground warrior." said Endran.

"Do not be so quick to assume commonality General. Tragedy does one of two things. It unites or it divides. The latter is more painful than the former, by far. It seems that the Blight would do more to divide us by fear than unite us through courage and a common desire for survival. But yes, I see your point. Perhaps one day however you will visit our lands and see for yourself what such tragedy brings."

"Of course. Assuming we even survive…"

"Precisely. Which brings me to the point of my visit. Know this General: I take great risk in bringing to you what I am about to reveal. I feel however it will serve a grander purpose in your hands than that of the Dwarva."

"And what is it you bring?" asked Endran, his curiosity piqued.

Vortag reached beneath the table into his backpack, and revealed a large earthen flask. It's surface glittered and shimmered in the candlelight. Endran stared at it, wondering what caused the preternatural glow of the container. He fancied he could hear the contents inside; a sweet yet terrible sound calling out to him yet barely audible, whispering a song of suffering and death. "What is it?" he asked transfixed.

"The blood of the Archdemon."

Endran snapped out of his momentary trance. "How is that possible?"

"That is a long and painful tale, and one I will not repeat here. But I will endeavour to provide an answer."

The barman arrived now with the drinks. Vortag took his tankard, supping at it greedily. Within seconds the dark sweet liquid inside was gone, and the Dwarf took the other two tankards placing each one in separate hands. "I'm sorry, would you two like a drink?" Vortag asked.

Endran stared at the Dwarf bemused, expecting a smile, but his face was stony and serious.

"Ah, no thank you," said Endran holding up a hand, "Though it seems tales of the Dwarven love of ale were less than exaggerated."

Vortag laughed. "This stuff? It's weaker than Nug piss. You human's know little of what it is to make a decent tankard of ale, the Elves even less."

"As you say. What of this Archdemon blood then?"

"Of course. General, know this: In Dwarven society I am an outcast. I am of no caste or house. I am neither soldier or noble, smith nor merchant. I am not even a memory. My death was a long time ago. My life is devoted to the Stone and to my ancestors, and to my people whether they would accept that or not. I walk the roads of the deep with but a single purpose; the death of the Darkspawn and the end of this Blight. I am Vortag Karrol of Bownammar, member of the Legion of the Dead. It was by the actions of the Legion that I obtained this blood. This Archdemon is but an animal, and it bleeds like any other."

"Darkspawn blood is poisonous." said Endran. "The blood of an Archdemon doubly so I'd wager. What purpose could this possibly serve, save knowing that our enemy is indeed mortal after all."

Enzi, who for a time had been listening intently, finally spoke. "I can answer that General. For several years now I have been studying the blood of these creatures. I trade with the Dwarves of Kal' Sharok; not just for lyrium but for the bodies of these monsters. I have worked many experiments upon them, working magic against their blood, trying to understand this taint."

"And have you discovered anything mage?" asked Endran.

"When subjected to lyrium the blood reacts in strange ways. It seems it may be possible to control the very taint within, rendering it harmless. It is but a theory however, and my tests so far have been…inconclusive. It would seem the taint originates from the Fade, but I cannot pinpoint where it first occurred. I have studied live specimens of these Darkspawn also, and they lack a will of their own. Something else controls their collective minds, doing so through this taint. I believe it to be the Archdemon. With the Archdemon's blood I would have a base from which to expand my research and theories. We must understand our enemy if we are to defeat it General."

"Does the Archon know of your work?"

Enzi smiled. "Of course not General. You know as well as I that any success I may happen upon would hardly be used by the magisters for entirely…altruistic means. You see now why I wished this meeting in a private pace, away from the Archon's prying eyes. Blood magic is the source of the Magisters power. Who knows what misdeeds they could work upon the blood of an Archdemon."

"And what's to stop you from using this research for a more darker purpose?"

"General, your mistrust of mages is obvious, despite your protests that we must all stand together as one to defeat this Blight. Not all mages would seek dominion over others. And not all magic derives from demons. It is true that the Magisters would use their magic for ill, but they do so because they believes it brings the Imperium greater power and stability. Who would dare face an empire that commanded the very power of the God's themselves? Yet as you say, their pride is boundless and they set no limit upon all the misdeeds they would work upon Tevinters people. In magic I see the means to help not just to destroy. I only seek the salvation of this land, and the continuation of life."

Endran sat quietly for a moment. "I am willing to believe you mage. While it serves me…but I shall be watching you."

"Fair enough General."

"Nothing like a lovers tiff!" laughed Vortag, the remains of another tankard of ale glistening in his beard. "You two ladies want to take this outside?"

"As long as we can take that Archdemon blood with us." smiled Enzi.

"Of course," said Vortag. "But I do not give up this blood entirely out of charity. I would ask for a commitment of your men General, aid against the Darkspawn."

"I can spare little I fear. My army marches tomorrow to the Anderfels."

"I understand that the needs of your people must come first, as that is how I feel at present. But if this mage can somehow produce a miracle, if he can cure this taint or find a way to destroy these monsters…I want your word that you will march into the Deep Roads that my people may benefit of your discovery."

"I will do what I can Dwarf, that I promise you."

"Then _Atrasta nal tunsha, Salroka." _Vortag rose to his feet, finished his remaining tankard and prepared to leave. "My people await…friend of yours?"

"I'm sorry?" asked Endran.

"The Elf…"

Endran turned to follow the Dwarf's gaze. At the tavern entrance stood a familiar looking Elf; hair of a golden blonde, skin exotically tanned, face tattooed with curious symbols. His right arm hung limp beneath his dark robes, but the left carried a dagger bound for the heart of Tevinters General.

"Oh yes," said Enzi, "The General and that handsome Elf are old friends."

Endran turned to the mage. "Perhaps I should have let you kill him after all…"


End file.
